I had to put keeping close tabs on Stella on a back burner once I started working for Shae. Stella’s based out of Indianapolis, but she makes frequent trips to DC and elsewhere for work.
Supposedly.
Still, I’m not sure why Stella’s so loyal to someone who’s such a political disrupter and who has no problems voting in ways contrary to what Stella’s employers are trying to accomplish.
It doesn’t make sense, and maybe I need to pay closer attention to their relationship.
On the surface, there’s nothing Stella’s done that would derail Elliot’s hopes for becoming POTUS.
Below the surface, however, when one delves deep, and especially when one combs through the past…
Let’s just say I’ve never told Elliot what lies beneath that particular iceberg. He doesn’t need to know, and it serves no good purpose telling him at this time.
There are alotof things I haven’t told Elliot over the years, because he really doesn’t need the knowledge stressing him out. Not just about Stella, either. I only tell him what he needs to know to keep him safe and on the right side of history.
If Stella wants to strong-arm Elliot into stumping for Grace because the woman’s thinking about running for the Senate, or some shit like that, she’s going to be sorely disappointed.
Elliot’s personal phone rings again.
I don’t bother being polite when I answer. “Did you have a message for me to give the vice president?”
“You could have told me he was on the floor.”
“I said he was unavailable.”
“Did I mention he’s mybrother?”
“Caller ID told me that. Anything else?”
She hesitates, my obvious lack of fear or obsequious groveling quite apparent to her. I’ve heard that she loves tossing around her status as Elliot’s sister to anyone who’ll listen. “Who the hell are you?”
“If you don’t have a message for me to pass to him, I’m hanging up on you again.”
“Who thehelldo you think you—”
“Good-bye.” I thumb theendbutton.
Damn, that feels good.
She’s really the only person I get to do this with because of the circumstances. I know it’ll make Elliot smile when I tell him. Normally, he ignores her, unless it’s a family thing he can’t get out of during the holidays. Since Shae’s election, he’s been able to have his family come to Washington to visit him, because he uses the excuse that it’s too inconvenient—and expensive to the taxpayers—to risk moving him around the country during a busy travel season. And that he doesn’t want to inconvenience other travelers.
It also means they don’t usually stay with him. The four attic bedrooms are not set up for guests, a deliberate decision on his part. So he can have the photo ops with his family but doesn’t have to put up with his parents and sister for more than a few hours at a time before he ships them off to Blair House.
When his parents actually make the trip. It’s not uncommon for them to beg off and cite being unable to get away from their farm. Elliot will sometimes give them the easy out, too, hinting that he’ll have a really busy schedule and not much time to spend with them. They hate the public scrutiny they receive as the parents of the vice president.
Unlike Stella, who eats it up.
The truth is, Elliot really doesn’t want to go “home,” because Nebraska doesn’t feel like home to him, and hasn’t ever since we met. Don’t think he ignores his parents, though. He video chats with them several times a week, and talks to them on the phone. So it’s not like he never has contact with them.
Besides, during the holidays, if Jordan and I aren’t visiting my family in California—
I blink back an unexpected prickle of tears over that thought. Toying with Stella today has been a great distraction from the real source of my anger and pain.
For the past several years, I’ve engaged in a carefully choreographed deception during the major holidays. Usually, Jordan and I end up spending it with Elliot, either just before or just after—sometimes the day of—depending on how things work out and whether Shae’s traveling. I don’t want either of my boys to be alone, if I can help it.
This year will be different, I suppose.
No Jordan to take into consideration. My poor boy might end up being alone for the first time in seven years, and—
